


Eat Cute

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Series: The Barbverse [71]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 12:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's an order to the universe, Charlie."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat Cute

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in the same universe as _A Raising in the Sun_, _Necessary Evils_, et. al. (See the [Barbverse Timeline](http://sleepingjaguars.com/buffy/viewpage.php?page=timeline) for specifics.) It contains spoilers for previous works in the series. Written for Snippy_kitty, who wanted Spike and Buffy making bento boxes.

"RRRRRRRAAAARRGGHH!"

Charles Gunn ducked, and the sticky, misshapen glob of rice hurtled past his head and splattered against the wall of the Summers-Pratts' kitchen. Spike was braced yellow-eyed and fangy against the kitchen island, ready to rip the whole thing out of the floor and send it after the rice ball. Gunn raised an eyebrow at the litter of bowls, knives, and plastic rice molds draped with the mangled corpses of vegetables. Yeah. This was gonna be classic. "I miss a major rumble with a celery demon?"

Spike's vampiric guise melted into features human but no less cranky. "'S all the bloody Slayer's fault!" He strode over to the refrigerator and wrenched the door open, pointing inside. "There's an order to the universe, Charlie, and you flout it at your peril. The bird makes the meals, the bloke eats 'em. And then washes the bloody dishes. Just you look at that!"

Gunn looked. On the top shelf was a glossy black bento box with a small grinning skull embossed on one corner. Spike snatched it out and thrust it into Gunn's hands, displacing the Post-It note reading "Spike's Lunch - &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3 Buffy." Gunn snapped it open. Nestled within was a Thermos of pig's blood, an artistic fan of wafer-thin slivers of raw beef wrapped around wedges of wasabi, a selection of colorful pickles, and a trio of animal-shaped...well, you couldn't really call 'em rice balls when they were molded out of pate, but likely a vampire wouldn't be a big carbohydrate fan. He glanced up. "Impressive. And that explains why you're going Freddy Krueger on the contents of the veggie drawer how?"

Spike slammed the refrigerator door shut. "It's not just a bloody lunch box, it's a sodding gesture of affection! Seems one of Buffy's girly little friends told her about how she trades 'em with the love of _her_ bleeding life, and now the Slayer's all keen on matching boxes and cute little fucking cut-outs and if I don't reciprocate, there'll be hell to pay, and I mean that in a literal sense!" He waved despairingly at the devastated countertop. "What she's left out of her fiendish romantic calculations is I BLOODY WELL CAN'T COOK!"

Gunn couldn't repress the grin any longer. "You are _so_ whipped."

"Tell me something I don't know, mate," Spike growled. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and squared off against the bowl of rice once more. "Now if you haven't got anything useful to contribute, sod off and leave me to my solitary hell."

"Are you kidding?" Gunn set the bento box down and kicked back against the counter. "You're lucky I'm not whippin' out my cell phone." He watched with interest as Spike plunged a sticky hand into the glutinous mass of white. "You take my advice, you'll just stand up for yourself. Tell her that there's certain things a man'll do for his lady, and certain things he won - aw, man, you're messin' it all up. That works way better if you pack the rice into ice cube trays the - "

"This girly 'friend' of Buffy's with the overly-attentive gentleman caller." Spike's eyes were glittering gold. "Her name wouldn't happen to be Dawn Gunn, would it?"

Gunn spread both hands in a display of innocence. "What? A brother can't be multicultural?"

"A brother-in-law's going to be dead meat if he doesn't lend me a hand with the fucking rice."

Gunn took pity. "Well, OK. But only 'cause you sweet-talked me into it." He sauntered over to the island. "This still means you're whipped, you know."

"Yeh, well..." Spike grinned. "'Long as I've got company."

 

**END**


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